In the Cards
by miss skinny love
Summary: Cassandra Trelawney — a Seer so great that her legacy would live on. But live on through whom? Surely not Sybill, her great-great-granddaughter. That woman was a mewling, pathetic hack. Right? — dedicated to 'sarahsezlove'
1. 1

Dedicated to **sarahsezlove**

Prompt (theirs):

 _I've never read anything about her over and above her smallish role in the main story. At most, she makes further prophesies and then disappears in other stories. I've often wondered about her history, though, growing up with these huge expectations on abilities she doesn't possess. Whilst she cuts a comical figure in the classroom, there's a sense of the tragic about her as she strives to convince others of her talents. Does she still try to convince herself, I wonder, or has the fantasy truly taken over? That moment when she's being forced from Hogwarts and has nowhere to go is actually really moving. Of course, Emma Thompson is amazing, so …_

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Note: _This story is not going to be a one-shot. It'll be a multi-chapter. I have a few chapters written out on paper already and posting should speed up in one week's time, which is when I finish finals. I'd like to thank and also apologise to_ ** _sarahsezlove._** _I deeply appreciate their readership and their reviews. I promise I meant to post this a while ago. Sorry! Hope you're not too upset/ disappointed._

 _I'm aware the focus of this story is unusual, in the beginning, but bear with me. This story does revolve around Sybill._

Beta-checked by Sunset Whispers.

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IN THE CARDS

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"Sybill," the mother crooned. "She'll be named Sybill. It's only right, of course." She pressed a tender kiss to her newborn's forehead.

"Oh?" the midwife prodded. "Why's that, dearie?"

"Well, my husband's great-grandmother was Cassandra Trelawney, you know."

The midwife was silent. If she had any reservations about a Muggle woman knowing so much about the Wizarding World, she was professional enough not to voice them.

"A great Seer, I'm sure you know …?"

"I do," the midwife assured her, and fussed with the bedsheets.

"As such, I bequeath unto my daughter the name Sybill, after the sibyls, who were female prophets of ancient Rome and Greece."

"A lovely name," Mr Trelawney assured his wife, coming forward to her bedside to peer down at his daughter — the first continuation of his line, and supposedly the last, according to the Mediwizard that had swung by earlier. "Complications," he'd said simply, as if magic was science and pigs never flew.

"Mr Trelawney," the midwife greeted, and offered him a smile. "You have a beautiful baby girl."

"I can see that," he grumbled, but he was smiling through his oiled, massive beard, and his eyes were bright — as were his wife's — and it was a gorgeous evening, despite "complications", despite the whispers of "Pureblood" and "muggle".

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"By God, I'm exhausted," his wife hissed. She was grey with exhaustion, and seemed to have lost a bit of weight.

"I know, love," he said. "I am too."

Sybill was a dramatic baby, it seemed, and whether that was in her nature or simply due to their (limited) capacity as parents had yet to be revealed.

Mrs Jennifer Trelawney gave a jaw-cracking yawn. "You take her," she said. The words came out mangled and rough. "I need sleep."

He leaned forward, and gently extricated his child. "Go on, then, Jen. I'll sort her out."

His wife stood from the rocking chair, patted his cheek, and toddled off.

He sat, readjusting the now-sleeping babe. "There, now. Just needed a bit of a cry, hm?" He was whispering — practically mouthing the words. He was desperate not to wake her.

 _Merlin, she's a pretty child,_ he thought proudly. The pad of his thumb brushed away a few lingering tears on her cheeks. He couldn't help but admire her chubby baby face, with those apple-red cheeks and the wispy hair on her head.

"My daughter." He paused. "By god," he tossed out, just as his wife did so often, "when did that happen?"

A baby. A real human.

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Jen rocked the baby wildly, almost desperately. "Sh, sh, sh," she spat out frequently, though not unkindly. "It's alright, my darling," she assured, but the baby was not calmed. Sybill wailed louder, screaming out her agitation.

"Are you hungry?" Jen wondered. She'd just fed her! And the diaper was alright.

"Sh, sh, sh." Tears of frustration began to gather at the corners of her eyes. She was so tired. So tired. And Sybill would not sleep. She would just scream. Scream and scream and scream as if her mother were not clutching her to her breast, rocking her, crooning, singing lullabies, begging, pleading, crying.

"Jen?" came floating through the house.

Jen choked on her next breath. "Louis," she called, "in here."

"I've returned from the Ministry. How was your day?" And there he was — in the doorway, with his briefcase still in hand.

She licked her chapped lips. Sybill's sobs had quietened the moment she'd heard her father's voice. Something acidic and bitter burned in her stomach at that realisation.

"Fine," she said. She walked forward and deposited Sybill in his arms. He dropped the briefcase quickly and adjusted his grasp.

"Yours?" Jen asked, and darted in to kiss his cheek. Away she fluttered, sinking into the rocking chair as if she were an old crone instead of a young lady.

"Good, good," he said happily. The smile weakened as he noticed the tears on Sybill's cheeks. He brushed them away. The smile regained strength. "Everyone at work was congratulating me."

Jen turned her face away. They were congratulating _him._ He was at work, showing off moving pictures of the daughter that was squalling in his wife's grasp. He was at work, loving his child while Jen just —

"I was thinking of making soup for dinner," she said abruptly.

Louis frowned slightly. "We had soup yesterday, my darling."

"I know. I'm a bit worn-out. If there were House-Elves to help me out with — "

"Oh, no," Louis cut her off. "I find that appalling." He tutted. "The poor things are modern slaves. It's not right."

"You've said. Perhaps just one. I'd really appreciate — " she persevered.

"You don't need help." He kissed Sybill's head.

"I don't need help," she echoed.

"Good." And then he smiled, because he was always fucking smiling.

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Please tell me what you think. :)


	2. 2

— dedicated to **sarahsezlove**

& beta-checked by Sunset Whispers

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She was humming quietly. And Sybill was dozing off. Thank God. _Thank Merlin_ , she thought, almost viciously, because God was surely a Muggle notion, and she was now married to a wizard. _A wizard,_ she thought, almost dazedly. What could she say about that? Nothing. She was just a normal woman. A normal woman with a half-blood child. _Half more than me. Half more than I'll ever be. Truly half of this Wizarding World. I am … not. I am an outsider._

Jen stared down at Sybill. Her baby girl was lying on her back, hands thrown up around her head. Her face was pink and soft; her mouth pursed. There was a single bubble of saliva precariously balanced at the junction where her lips met. Wispy hair clung to her head. And her cheeks were rosy. Rosy because of the blood flowing beneath. The blood that was better than Jen's. Blood that came from a magical father and a muggle mother.

She swallowed. "Ah," she sighed, and stood. This was not what she'd imagined. Not what she thought her life would be. Whether it was better or worse than those imaginings … she could not say. But it was surely a marvel. Magic! Magic was real!

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"You wish you'd never met me, isn't that right?"

 _"No,_ Jen. Don't put words in my mouth," he said in disgust, throwing back his brandy like it was water and it was a hot summer day instead of a cold Tuesday night.

"Because that's all I do, isn't it?" she asked helplessly. "I'm just the wife. Just your Muggle wife."

He stared at her as if he was seeing her for the first time, and he didn't like what he saw. "How did you even come to that?" he asked, wonderingly.

She choked on her laughter. Looked down. Laced her fingers together. "How did I come to that," she whispered, dropping the question mark and the incredulous tone he'd had. "I came to that quite easily, darling."

He stared. She stared back.

"Was it maybe when you didn't invite me to any work functions? Was it when you refused to take me out into _your world?_ Was it when I realised that you — " she broke off almost violently, pulling her body physically backwards, away from him, as if — in so doing — she could shatter any thoughts or feelings that were birthing themselves into their sad, pathetic world.

"When I — ?" he encouraged. He almost leaned forwards. Almost.

Jen licked her lips. "When I realised you loved our daughter more than you loved me," she croaked out.

He huffed out a breath of air and tore his eyes away from hers. He couldn't even look at her now, she realised. "Parents are supposed to love their children more than anyone else. Good parents do that."

"More than you ever loved me," fell from her lips. "Is it because she's magical and I'm not? I'm not what I used to be to you," she said plaintively. "I used to have my own sort of magic over you. You used to see something in me. Now … it's like you see nothing. You don't grab my waist and hold me. You never spin me around. You don't kiss me. You don't make love to me, Louis — you _fuck_ me. Do you think I don't know the difference? I know the difference," she spat out, eyes watering, mouth a thin line, slamming her hands on the table — and would you look at that … the sweet-natured Mrs Trelawney slamming her hands on the kitchen table like some drunk harlot from the streets.

Finally. He turned his gaze on her. "Like I see nothing," he repeated. "Funny, that."

She didn't ask what was so funny.

She couldn't.

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Jen was crying. The house was empty, except for Sybill and herself. She couldn't stop the tears. She couldn't put Sybill down, even though she thought that was probably exactly what she should do.

"I'm sorry," she chanted, over and over again, though she couldn't say exactly what she was apologising for. "I'm so sorry, baby girl."

Sybill was screaming at the top of her lungs. Her chubby fists were waving around. Her wispy hair was standing on end. And those pouty lips were overrun with saliva.

"Shhh," she soothed, as if she could actually soothe her own child.

Sybill let out a particularly heart-wrenching cry.

"Just — shush!" Jen yelled, her voice cracking. She was trying to calm her child. But maybe what she was actually doing was trying to get Sybill to calm _her_. A baby could not comfort her — not like how she needed.

"I'm so sorry, Sybill, I really am." Her hold tightened.

Sybill's screeches reached a crescendo, and then there was an odd _pop!_ and Jen was shoved away from her own daughter. Her back crashed into the nursery wall. She stared.

Sybill was on the floor, sniffling but clearly calmer.

Her daughter had resorted to accidental magic just to be away from her own mother. Jen covered her hand with her mouth. What kind of mother was she? What kind of wife was she? What kind of _person_ was she?

The _whoosh_ of the fireplace announced her husband's arrival. She heard the noise from his shoes as he made his way to their daughter's room.

"What — ?" he breathed. He knelt down and picked up Sybill. "Is this what you do now?" he asked his wife. "You leave her sobbing on the ground while you lie against a wall? Is this who you are now?" he interrogated her.

"No," she said hoarsely.

"No," he echoed disbelievingly. He wiped away the drying tears on his child's face. "I never thought you were this kind of person, Jennifer."

 _Jennifer._ She looked out the window. She didn't have the willpower to defend herself, or explain. Maybe it was because she didn't think she should be defended. Maybe it was because she couldn't find it in herself to argue back when he was looking at her with those eyes of his. Those disgusted, defeated eyes.

When had life become this?

He hadn't even noticed the tears clinging to her own cheeks.

But then again — maybe he had, and just didn't care.

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Please tell me what you think. :)


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